Apologia for the Forgotten
by Atrabelos
Summary: Fact becomes rumor, and rumor becomes legend. Legend becomes perverted, and then all truth is lost. The denizens of Arugol Woods - a tribe of ghosts clinging to their sliver of life, as twisted and warped as it is - know this firsthand.


**Disclaimer: I do not own Pokémon, Nintendo, or any related franchises. I do own this story and any characters that appear within. Do not attempt to use this story or the characters within without my permission, and do not attempt to make money off this story in any form.**

**Any individual species of Pokémon that occur belong to Nintendo. Only their interpretations belong to me.**

I thought of this idea the other night, and thought it delightfully chilling. I don't really have much more to say than that, however.

This is a one-shot centering around Ghost-Type Pokémon – perhaps a deconstruction of a conglomeration of both Pokémon Ghosts and real-life ghost stories.

We begin:

* * *

**Apologia for the Forgotten**

**A Pokémon One-shot**

_**Divine Scriptures of Arceus, Epoch 2, Lines 62-72**_

_And thus did Arceus turn his eyes to them._

_They who cursed all with misery and blight._

_And so did Arceus feel pain for the living._

_These wallowing souls could not be redeemed,_

_So thenceforth Arceus did curse them too._

_So did he bring upon divine justice upon these wretched souls,_

_And so did they never see the light of day again._

_Not quite living, but not quite dead,_

_Those cursed with misery and blight._

_Never would they or their children torment the living again._

Everything was a dull gray color, devoid of life. There was no wind that blew, only a thick, permeating fog that engulfed the area in a viscous stench of cold air and boggy moisture. The ground was overgrown with poisonous weeds: any Growlithe or Poochyena that tried to hunt would find themselves dealing with throbbing sores on their feet the next morning.

The trees stood like statues, blocking out the sun with dried brown leaves. Every now and then a Murkrow would be heard cawing out of the dead forest, serving as a requiem to any who became lost in these cursed lands. A few trees had also fallen to the ground, rotten to the core, but even then the sun would not shine through. This was an area of the earth which was never daylight: only a permanent shade engulfed the area.

And yet, some thrillseekers itching for more danger, more suspense, despite the odds, had built a small village on the outskirts of Arugol Woods. It was a fairly small, uncivilized place: there was no power lines, and only a rudimentary sewage system pumped waste into cesspools. The only way to communicate was by cell phones: the closest city there was, Fortree City, was far to the north and just as technologically backwater as the village itself.

The village (aptly named after the woods themselves) was no place for the faint of heart. Daily horror stories about ghosts crept up: Did you hear the Growlithe barking last night? It was barking at thin air, not a person in sight. – What about Johnson over there? Poor fellow was possessed: ran stark raving mad and naked out of his house in the dead hours of the morning! - Or how about that Priest Henry fellow, says he saw a red eye staring at him in his sleep, and even when he closed his eyes it didn't go away!

These rumors became the town's tourists attractions, usually for daredevils who needed excitement in their lives. A few masons had taken to sculpting small ghostlike figurines to hand out to visitors to the town, and they quickly became the wealthiest citizens in a few square miles. The town also attracted Pokémon Trainers in great numbers: sometimes as escorts to civilians, other times to get a hand on these ghosts and train them to battle.

But despite that, only the bravest – or most foolish – ever dared to venture into the depths of the forests. There, untold fates laid in wait, conspiring against civilization itself: slowly undoing the fabrics of the earth...

... ... ...

The large ghost meandered through the woods slowly, unsteadily, as without a purpose in sight. In his gray, wispy hands he held a small book, labeled "Divine Scriptures of Arceus Reference Guide."

The ghoul himself was large: his rotund body seemed to pulsate with eldritch energies, while his feet (which seemed to resemble hooves attached to bloated gray legs) sunk into the mud with every step. Three gray teeth stuck out of where his mouth should have been, while a giant, red, cyclopean eye gazed ahead at the nothingness. Two long phantasmal wisps stretched out behind his body. He had no head; all of his facial features were on his body.

Lethargically, he pulled himself through a thicket of brambles, making sure the book was not damaged. After a close call in which a branch fell from a nearby tree, only to land on a ground of poison ivy nearby, the Dusclops pulled himself through the barrier of plants to arrive at a clearing.

"_You brought us nothing_..." a voice called.

"_I brought you this_..." the Dusclops called back. Both seemed to be whispers in the air: there was a quality of otherworldliness in them that made them seem weak and pleading.

The Dusclops stuck out his hand and reached out the book. No emotion was present on either the Dusclops or the other ghost's, a pile of gaseous material with eyes and a mouth.

The other Pokémon, a Ghastly, stared at the ghost holding the book.

"_We need food_... _Foood_... _We are staaarving_..."

Other ghosts had gathered at the area: after hearing the Ghastly, they echoed in a pitiful chorus:

"_Foood_... _Foood_... _We are staaarving_... _We need food_..."

"_This book_... _holds secrets_... _I must read it_..." the Dusclops echoed back. The other ghosts did not respond, instead preferring to drift off aimlessly through the clearing. The Dusclops, meanwhile, sulked off to a hollow tree trunk and sat there, looking at the book. Finally, after a good deal of deciding, he opened the Divine Scriptures of Arceus.

... ... ...

When daytime came, the ghosts had dispersed into the shadows. There was no sun, but even so, daytime had a draining effect on the energy of ghosts. They could no longer affect the corporeal realm, and thus had no effect on the lives of the living. But the Dusclops could still read the Scriptures: he had interacted with it enough to still be able to effect it even with his low energy.

Far overhead, a white seagull with blue stripes flew over the forest: a Wingull, migrating to the ocean. It beat its wings, and immediately some of the ghosts in the area looked up: with it was a whole fleet of other alike creatures. They flew, free from the confines of the forest, free from the horrors of the night. They were free to do whatever they wanted.

The ghosts dispersed. Their faces showed no signs that they had witnessed anything.

... ... ...

Nighttime fell once more. The Dusclops, feeling that he had read enough, came out of his hollow and wandered into the middle of the crowd of ghosts. Instinctively the other ghosts looked at him: he was their leader, and he would guide them - even if he did bring no sustenance.

The Dusclops looked ahead, not actually gazing at any individual person but rather at the air surrounding the crowd. Slowly, he began to read:

"_Divine Scriptures of Arceus, Epoch 2: The Deathly Curse._

"_And the curse did well._

_They could no longer feel the breeze,_

_Nor hot or cold..._

_Happiness was lost,_

_As was satisfaction..._

_Color was foreign..._

_They could no longer harm a mortal soul..._

_And they would no longer live._

_And Arceus, weeping for those he had cursed,_

_Knew it was for the best..._

_It was a sacrifice he had to make..._

_For the good of all."_

There was a great bout of silence in the crowd after the Dusclops had finished. All eyes were on him, and not a muscle was moved.

Then, a baby Ghastly that had been in the crowd started to moan in a sickly fashion, causing a bird to fly out of a tree nearby. A Misdreavus did the same, creating a feeling of sadness and misery in all of the other ghosts. Fairly soon a crescendo of howling and sobbing had started from the ghouls, reaching for the very hearts of the Pokémon nearby and filling them with grief.

Grief for that which could have been. Grief for the cursed.

Grief for the dead.

... ... ...

The town of Arugol Woods could not sleep that night. Kept awake by a siren's song, they shivered in their beds, unsure of what would happen. The townspeople were threatened by strange nightmares of death and mourning, and woke up the next morning complaining of aches and tiredness. The town mayor had slept with his gun in bed, in case a malevolent specter would try to murder him while he was unconscious.

All through the day horror stories were exchanged about the woods. A beginner Pokémon Trainer, who had come to Arugol Woods to capture a Ghost-type, discreetly walked back up the dirt path to Fortree, scared for his life. Many found that their Growlithes and Poochyenas seemed incredibly downcast, and comforted them as best as possible.

Even through the next night, the mere memory of the dreadful howling kept them vigilant against the threats of the night.

The night after that, they praised Arceus, thanking him for keeping the demonic phantasms at bay.

* * *

This is shorter than my other one-shot, but I feel it's still decent enough. I like the concept, and I don't feel I did too badly with the implementation, either.

You aren't here to hear me talk about this story, though. How did you like it? I'm willing to accept criticism, as always, so please tell me what you think.

However, make sure you're adding something to the table. Nothing worse than someone who says "Your story sucks" and doesn't say "Here's why:" afterwards.

It's almost amazing what you can do when you combine Pokémon with real-life elements, isn't it?


End file.
